[There wasn't ever even the remotest chance that Ling wouldn't be found here sooner than later. Even if he weren't genuinely hungry,
he has a standard of behavior to maintain; in the unlikely event that someone from home is here, he has be exactly as Ling as he ever is.]

[It's kind of a stroke of luck, how easily he finds it, but then again he can be a lucky guy sometimes. Or maybe food just calls to him. Either way,
a broad grin spreads across his face as he gets a good look at the unguarded splendor of a good kitchen. Nice. Nice nice nice.]

[He grabs himself some cold chicken and a bun, stuffs them both in his face, and chews furiously as he continues to rummage through the fridges and pantries. After some time, and a lot more eating, he comes to the important conclusion that he should get a box or a basket or something and shove as much food as he can find into it to take to his room. Not that he minds eating in the kitchen, but he doesn't want to have to walk the whole way down here every time.]

[His surprise when he returns with an empty sack slung over his shoulder is both extremely obvious and pretty hilarious. He stands at the doorway and stares blankly into the kitchen, whose interior has entirely changed in the time it took to go upstairs and come back.]

. . . Huh. Okay then.

[The outdoors of this place is at the same time very interesting and freaking Ling out in a serious way. Not that it shows, not that he's going to let it get in the way of his exploring--but really. It's like someone's done a really bad job trying to make things make sense and then gave up halfway through.]

[It's the vendors that finally get him to the point that he shows his discomfort a little bit--a very little bit. He's still grinning, hands on his hips more like a scolding older brother who's rapidly losing patience with some nonsense than someone actually disconcerted.]

What kind of salesman doesn't speak? Not even a hello. [He waves a hand with what he hopes to pass off as irritation.] You can't get much repeat business.

[At least he's adaptable. That's what he keeps thinking: at least I'm adaptable, and it's better me than someone else. After these last few days his positive attitude has been tested a little too much, though. I mean honestly. First the running out of oxygen, and now these--blips.]

[At some point, in the middle of what appears to be nothing very much--could be walking through the grounds, could be dozing in the music room, could be training, even--he lets out a gusty sigh apropos of nothing and stares up at the ceiling.]

I've already done this afternoon. I refuse to do it again. I'm conscientiously objecting.

[You can't object to Wonderland, Ling. Well, you can, but it won't listen.]