Candles, really? Well, it's better than the dark... or you know. Maybe. Now he can see the mess that Daimon's keeping his house in, books and old boxes scattered everywhere like a tornado ripped through the area. He shifts, bringing up his left hand to idly scratch the back of his neck.

"Must be some impressive things if they're keeping you this occupied."

Oh, what the hell, Daimon?

"Your pizza box is getting away." He hopes imp and it hasn't just been sitting long enough to actually become sentient on its own anyway.