Deeply inhaling the smell of fresh coffee, Rose's gaze sweeps across the kitchen before landing on the person kneeling on the floor. She freezes where she is, not out of caution but in preparation for attack. She's still not sure what's going on here, but there have been a few clues. The clothing, wallpaper, and furniture style--it all seems vaguely familiar somehow. Then there's the booklet and the radio and--

When the man stands, Rose makes a small "ah-ha" sound. The man from the photographs in the bedroom. A stranger, but someone tied up in whatever the fuck is going on here. She gives him an obvious once-over with appraising eyes.

At the term of endearment, Rose's eye twitches, and she lifts an eyebrow in reproachful curiosity. "Good morning," she responds sweetly, straightening to her full 6-foot height. "And who are you?"